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“I’d like to say nowhere, but I’m guessing you don’t intend to leave.”
“You’re guessing right,” he said.
She sighed. “I get off in an hour. Meet me at the park around the corner.”
24
Alexa spent the rest of the day forcing herself not to look over her shoulder. She waited for Triple A, had them tow her car to a local tire shop, and called the office to say she’d be late while they replaced all four tires.
She’d cringed handing over her credit card but she hadn’t had a choice. She was on a strict budget thanks to her student loans and public servant’s salary, but after the morning she’d had, her mounting debt was the least of her concerns.
She’d tried to lose herself in the case files and courtroom prep that were the linchpins of her job, but the image of her flat tires, the fear she’d felt when she’d hurried to lock herself in her car, had dogged her. All through the day an internal debate had raged: call Dave Kelly and ask if anyone had been inquiring about her, about her case, or lay low and hope it — whatever this was, if it was anything at all — would blow over.
For once she’d been relieved to see the end of the day. She’d waved to Jose and Imani on her way out, hoping that all the nights she’d spent working until she passed out at her desk counted for something on a night like this one when she really didn’t want to be there.
But if she’d expected to feel better when she got home, she was sorely disappointed. She felt isolated in her apartment, all too aware that she was alone, that no one would know if something happened to her.
She thought about going to her parents’ for the night, but that would require an explanation, and any explanation she could give them would only freak them out. Plus, she couldn’t hide forever. If someone was trying to send her a message — about her accident? about another case? — they weren’t going to change their mind if she spent one night at her parents’ house.
The thought mobilized her and she double-checked the locks on her apartment door, pulled out her laptop, and spread out on the couch, drumming her fingers while she thought about people who might harbor a grudge against her.
No one worked as a prosecutor without making a few enemies.
She started typing.
25
The park was small, with only a couple patches of snow-covered grass and a colorful playground. Nick used a short footpath to reach the far end of the park. The playground was empty, snow covering the ground under the swings and slides, but a guy sitting alone around a bunch of playground equipment was never a good look.
Two benches faced each other on either side of the walkway. He used the knit cap he’d stuffed into his pocket to wipe off the snow on one of the benches before taking a seat.
The light was waning, the sun sinking toward the row houses across the street from the park. It was a nice town, less populated with chain restaurants and malls than some of the suburbs closer to the city. Still, he wondered what had made Karen LaGarde pick it as a stopping point. Now that he’d met her — albeit briefly — she didn’t strike him as the kind of woman without better prospects.
Then again, she’d seemed happy until he’d mentioned Leland Walker. Maybe she enjoyed working as a waitress, shooting the shit with her customers, saying hello to the neighborhood kids on her way to work.
The idea wasn’t totally foreign to him. More than once he’d considered what his life might look like if he, Ronan, and Dec hadn’t started MIS, if Erin hadn’t overdosed. In his imagination, they all lived close to their dad, even Nora, who’d fled to California right after high school. In his mind they went fishing and had Sunday dinner together, complaining about their jobs and telling their kids — eventually — to stop running in the house while their dad grilled hamburgers in the backyard of the house they’d all grown up in.
Would he still be with the BPD? Would he have joined the force at all? Or would he have gone into a completely different line of work? Would Ronan have joined the Navy? Would Declan be so shut down he wasn’t capable of sitting still long enough to do anything more than contemplate his next conquest?
It was impossible to say, but if they hadn’t started MIS, Ronan wouldn’t have met Julia. Nora wouldn’t have been in California to meet Braden Kane, the man she’d been seeing since they both left the FBI.
And Nick wouldn’t have met Alexa.
As much as it pained him to think about her now, to know he’d fucked up a relationship that had already been up against a number of significant challenges, he wouldn’t trade what had happened between them.
He would take the feel of her hand in his when he’d pulled her up off the pavement, her laughter over breakfast at The Friendly Toast, her thigh against his under the table after rugby, the soft weight of her in his arms. He was surprised to realize he would take the pain of losing her, of hurting her, all over again for the few moments they’d shared over the past couple of weeks.
His gaze caught on a figure moving down the path and he looked up to see Karen LaGarde hurrying toward him, head bent against the cold. Her blond hair was tucked under a cap and hanging loose down her back, her quilted coat hiding her figure.
He stood when she approached and she looked up at him, her hazel eyes flashing. “That was dumb.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to scare you by approaching you on the street.”
“And you didn’t want to give me a heads-up by calling,” she said.
“Exactly.”
“Smart,” she said. “And dumb.”
